Author's Note:
Special guest appearances and more than a few liberties taken. As the good Doctor likes to say: "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Just because you can, doesn't mean you should! But seriously, who could resist?
With the greatest debt of thanks to Joseph Campbell, whose book 'The Hero With A Thousand Faces' has done more to bolster my faith in season four than anything else. Mister Campbell, I thank you from the heart of my bottom…
Brought to you by the ratings 'T' for language, and 'F' for (complete and utter) farce.
ONE
Sam blinked and rubbed his eyes, looking up from the book in front of him. Old, decrepit, worn and musty, it smelt of the untold years it had sat in the library. He sighed, casting his eyes round the library room and then leaning back in his chair, wondering, not for the first time, what his brother was doing while he was making every effort to read any and all literature on breaking Crossroads deals.
He noticed the scant few people around the reading room. It made him ponder idly whether any of them had, like him, become so engrossed in their findings that they had totally forgotten to check the time.
He found that very likely.
He wondered if any of them had as good a reason as he to be in there, poring over mouldy pages at such a stupid wee hour of the morning.
Something told him he was alone on that one.
He sniffed, looked back at the book, and put his hand out to close it. He paused, spying a word under his thumb. For some reason it appeared to stand out, as if magnified to his tired brain. He leaned over and read the accompanying sentence. Then he skipped back and read the paragraph. Then he paged back and read the entire section. Then he read it again.
He stood slowly, refusing to let the shock and excitement make him jump and shout and run about the room in a mad panic. Instead, he picked up the book and carried it sedately to the help counter. He struck up a friendly conversation with the girl behind it, knowing that, whether she liked it or not, he was having that book away.
He had to.
For it held the key.
Sam pulled the Impala up at the motel, hastily shoving her into Park and squeaking the door open as fast as he could. He scrabbled at the plastic bag in his hands containing the large book, hefting it out of the door and ripping the keys from the ignition to lock her up. In his haste he dropped the keys in the mud and spent a furious minute swearing and cursing as he searched around for them in the early morning light.
He snatched them up, ignoring the drips of muddy water. With a firm grip on the book he ran for the motel room door. He bumped into it, searching for his door key carelessly.
He shoved the key in the door, wanging it open quickly and racing in. He slammed it behind him and clutched the large book to his chest, grinning in excitement.
"Dean!" he called at the bed farthest from him, running over. He plonked himself on the side of the bed, putting a hand to the blanket and rocking it fiercely. "Dean! Wake up! I got--"
The blanket moved and he realised what he was pushing at was most definitely not a shoulder. Neither was it Dean.
"Mornin'," said the girl, blinking open weary eyes and smiling at him. Sam let his mouth fall loose at the vision of chestnut-haired beauty before him. She put a hand up and pushed his from her. "Don't put your hand there, sweetie," she sighed.
He sprang off the bed and swallowed, mortified.
"I'm - er - er - sorry!" he spluttered.
"That's ok," she breathed, rolling onto her back and putting her elbows underneath her leisurely. She looked around the room casually. "You seen my things anywhere?"
Sam stared at her, pointing his right hand out to the chair under the window.
"Thanks, honey," she smiled, pulling back the blankets to reveal she was entirely without any of her things. Sam closed his mouth quickly, turning his back to her and grabbing onto the book, his fingers digging into the old leather.
The door to the bathroom opened suddenly and Sam breathed a sigh of relief. "Dean," he said, turning.
From the doorway, the girl in the bath towel shrieked and dropped it. Sam slapped a hand over his eyes, turning away from her quickly. His shocked fingers let go of the book and it slammed into his foot.
He cried out in pain, hopping away from them both and bending to get the book back without looking. The brunette by the window laughed, the girl in the doorway jabbering away as she rescued her towel.
"Woah woah woah!" came a loud voice. "What the hell's going on here?"
Sam recognised the voice and slid two fingers apart, still firmly over his eyes, to check it was in fact his brother.
"Dean?" he asked weakly.
"Yeah it's me," he snapped angrily. "What's with all the noise?"
Sam let his hand drop from his face, finding his brother was at least in his shorts. He was brushing past the blond in the doorway to the bathroom, a hand towel rubbing at his hair.
The brunette under the window, now in her top and skirt, started to explain. The blond in the recovered bath towel sat on a bed and started complaining, and Sam lifted the book and tried to describe his excitement and discovery.
"Silence!" Dean cried desperately, his hands up. "Just one at a time, shall we!"
Sam shuffled his feet, his frown settling into a thin line.
"This is important, man," he said stubbornly.
"Like 'put on the To Do list' important or 'parts for ma Chevy' important?" he asked quickly, tossing the towel onto a bed.
"Keeping you driving your Chevy important," Sam said with a dark, knowing tone. Dean nodded briskly, letting his hands drop.
"Ok, that means you girls are out of here," he said, turning at looking at them both.
"Awww!" the brunette under the window protested. "But I don't have to be in Indiana till Wednesday!"
"That's as maybe, sweetheart, but my brother's got priority right now," he said helplessly, shrugging. He looked at the other girl. "You good?"
"Yeah," she allowed with disappointment. "I'll leave you my mobile number," she added, "so you don't have to call my office again." She got up off the bed and went back into the bathroom, towel and all.
The brown-haired girl turned back to the chair under the window, pulling open her small clutch purse and a pen. She found a till receipt and scribbled something on the back. She folded everything but the slip back into her purse before walking up to Dean.
"There, my home number in case my mobile's out of battery. Next time," she said with a wide smile, pushing the paper into his hand, "tell your brother he can come earlier." She put a hand to Dean's head, kissing him firmly by the mouth. "See you round. I hope."
"Me too," Dean breathed, watching her stand back and then walk to the door. She let herself out.
"Dude, what the hell are you doing?" Sam demanded angrily, slapping at his shoulder.
"Ow! What does it look like?" he shot back. "You need a diagram now? Has it been that long?"
"Shut up," Sam snapped. "I came here because I've got something to show you. It's important. It might just get you off your--"
He stopped, annoyed, as the bathroom door opened again. The girl bounced out, flicking long bond hair over her shoulder and walking to the bed. She bent over to find something, then turned and walked over to Dean.
"Here. Call me next week," she winked. "I'll be back from the conference. Just make sure you call my mobile, don't go through the office and end up with my secretary again, last time his writing was so bad I thought were some guy named Sean," she added with disgust. She stroked at his face before looking past him at Sam. "Sorry about that," she said bravely.
"'S fine," Sam mumbled, his face dark. She smiled.
"See you soon," she said to Dean, nodding and letting herself out of the motel room. He let his shoulders sag and walked to his bed in disarray, sitting heavily.
"Now listen to me, Dean," Sam said quickly.
"What is it this time, Sam?" he asked wearily, wiping a hand over his face and looking up at him. "A passage in Latin that turns demons into angels? A magic stick to poke 'em in the eye? Some stinkin' root to poison their unholy water?"
Sam paused, unprepared for this.
"Look, I'm not trying to seem ungrateful, man, but… I don't want to hear this," Dean added, looking at the carpet between his bare feet.
"What? Why not?" Sam demanded.
"Cos I don't know how I'm going to deal with you being so disappointed all over again," Dean said harshly, looking at him. "Every time you're like 'hey Dean, look, all we have to do is look at the shiny spoon and say 'there is no spoon' and all this will just go away'. But every time you're left with nothing but a long face and those eyes that make me want to jump off a bridge for you. So just quit it, alright? There is no way out. Face it," he said gently.
Sam's lip stuck out. "Three days, Dean. We've got three days. Do you want to see what's in this book or not?"
Dean stared at him, then shook his head slowly. "I swear, absolutely nothing I say gets through to you, does it?"
"Not this week," Sam said resolutely. He walked over with the book, pulling it from the plastic and putting it on the bed behind his brother, opening it. "Just look at this," he said firmly.
Dean sighed, turning round and then leaning over to put the paper and card in his hand on the side table. He turned back to watch Sam page through the tome hastily.
"Here it is," Sam said quickly, twisting the book round to read. "It says here there's one thing in the world - above or below - that even demons are afraid of."
"Oh yeah? What's that, your karaoke skills?" Dean muttered, trying to read some of the passage. It appeared to be in a language other than English and he gave up.
"The full name's obscured here, but the meaning's easy to get," he said quickly. "A key. It's just a key."
"A key to what?" Dean asked, confused. "How's a key going to help?"
"I'm not sure," Sam admitted, and Dean looked at him. "But look, it says it's supposed to be used to open a tomb. The tomb's long-gone, but the key itself has power, Dean. It's supposed to have the power to kill any creature, real or unreal, and to literally create worlds out of nothing."
"Like a Trickster key?"
"Ah… yeah, I suppose. Except… this one can alter things, make them different, but for real. It could destroy Lilith."
Dean's eyes went to the curtains in the room as something was turned over and over in his mind.
"Wouldn't mind seeing that. So… even if this ain't going to save me, we could still kill her - like, wipe her out, not just send her back to the Bad Fire?"
"Yes," Sam nodded.
"Well I'm sold," he said abruptly. "Where do we have go to get this key?"
"Ah… not too far away, actually," Sam smiled, relieved his brother was amenable. He looked down at the book again. "Legend has it this key is kept in a place called Supervacuus Ferrum."
"Supervacuus Ferrum? As in… unwanted iron?" he asked. Sam nodded. "So do we know where this place is?" he asked, getting up and going to the chair under the window. He picked up his jeans as Sam sat down on the bed slowly.
"Oh yeah. Pack your passport, dude," he grinned.
"Oh please tell me it's Jamaica?"
"Not quite. British Columbia. That's in Canada, by the way."
Dean pulled the Impala over, looking around and gunning the engine before switching it off.
"Well here we are, over the border in lovely, chilly, damp B.C.," he said, looking round. "You sure this is right?"
"Absolutely," Sam said, nodding as he studied the map. "Somewhere round here - and I mean, within about three hundred yards - is the site previously known as Supervacuus Ferrum."
"Right," Dean smiled. "That's interesting, cos… it don't look much like unwanted metal to me."
Sam looked up at him, and he nodded to Sam's window. Sam turned and looked.
Two large iron gates were being guarded by a pair of sombre security men. They watched the black car and her two occupants with open curiosity, it seemed. Sam smiled slightly, and the two men smiled back.
He blinked, confused, and look back at Dean. "Shit. You think they built on it?"
"I think," Dean grinned, "this is a film set."
"You sure?" Sam asked, looking back at the gates. Beyond them certainly seemed to be a hive of activity, people walking to and fro carrying papers, coffee, props or banners. He looked at the beige walls, the security gatehouse arrangement, the vehicles moving about inside.
"What else could it be?" Dean asked, his eyes abruptly flashing with excitement.
"Then it can't be the place we'll find this key," Sam sighed.
"Why not?" Dean protested. "Maybe it's like… Maybe someone's got it in a props box somewhere, thinking it's a mock-up. How big is it supposed to be, anyway? Any pictures?"
Sam looked at him, tried to ignore his enthusiasm for the entire idea of possibly investigating a working film lot, and then looked back at the book in his lap. He paged through slowly.
"There aren't any pictures," he huffed. "No physical evidence at all."
"Great! So we don't even know what it looks like. Y'know, you could have told me this before I drove all the way over the border with a big-ass illegal arsenal hidden in the trunk," Dean groused.
Sam huffed as his eyes scanned through the book quickly, trying to find any reference to the key's appearance. I am going to make this work. I am going to find the key, and I am going to get Dean off his deal. If it kills me. No, Lilith - and anyone else who gets in my way.
"Hey, what do you think they're making in there?" Dean asked, his voice quiet with pre-occupation. Sam noticed him peering past him to look through the gates. "Looks like some kind of horror flick - look," he added, gesturing with his chin.
Sam looked round to see a group of people talking and joking with the security guard on the left before he let them through the barrier.
"A rawhead, a zombie and a horribly disfigured murder victim walk onto a film lot," Dean grinned, and Sam looked at him. "Wait, I'm thinking of a punch-line."
"How about: this is not getting us anywhere," he said tightly, and Dean let his eyes roll to look out of his window as he sat back.
"Then what, Sammy? We're in friggin' Canada, in case you hadn't noticed. Don't know about you, but this is further from Kansas than I ever thought I'd be."
"Yeah," Sam muttered. "Look--"
"Dude, check it out," Dean said quickly, nudging Sam's shoulder and pointing back through Sam's window. "Coincidence?"
Sam looked round at the entrance again. The group of possible actors had moved inside and the outside was now visible again. He caught the production company sign on the gates and then did a double-take, staring.
"'Kripke Entertainment and Scrap Metal'?" he asked.
"Sound good to you?" Dean smiled with intent. Sam looked down at his lap, and the book. He opened it quickly.
"I think…" He paged through hastily, finding the right part. "Dean… I got it wrong," he said with abrupt worry.
"Whut?"
"Well… Look, it said a key, right? A key that could open a tomb - or a crypt."
"Yeah, and?"
"So it's a key to a crypt," Sam said slowly. "A crypt key."
"Yeah, so?"
"So - maybe this key is not a thing at all - maybe it's a creature, or minor deity," he rattled off.
"How do you fig--"
"A crypt-key! A crypt-key! 'Kripke'!" he interrupted.
Dean whistled to himself, then looked back at the sign on the gate. "So you think this Kripke creature thing is hiding in here somewhere?"
"Could be," Sam shrugged, snapping the book shut. "It's not the first time a creature has passed itself off as a human to just fade into the background."
"So he could look like anyone else in there," Dean mused. "How are we gonna find him?"
"Well… I, ah…" Sam havered, then just let his mouth flounder. Dean raised his Sarcastic Eyebrows at him.
"Wow, that's a plan," he nodded decisively. "We'll do that then."
"Well you think of something," Sam shot back. "Go on, tell me: how do we find a disguised key to a ruined tomb out in the middle of B.C.?"
"We could--," Dean began, waving a hand in circles. Sam tilted his head, watching. Dean's eyes slid to one side to take stock of his younger brother's expression. "Or we could just…" He waved his hand round in a circle again, more slowly and this time managing to look completely innocent. "Ah…"
"'Ah' what?" Sam pressed, his face a study in criticism.
Dean opened his mouth defiantly, pinning his brother with a superior frown. "We could…"
Sam raised his eyebrows and his chin, prepared to be impressed, his head still moving upwards as Dean opened his mouth again.
"Nah, I got nothing," Dean admitted abruptly, and Sam nodded.
"Thought so."
"Bite me. Are you sure we need this key?" Dean grumbled. "Is it really going to save me?"
"Even if it doesn't, it could still kill Lilith," Sam said firmly, making Dean nod.
"That works for me."
He twitched the engine into life again and backed the car up, pushing her into Drive before aiming for the gates.